


Marry You

by afractionof (greensunsky)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: BroJohn - Freeform, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 14:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greensunsky/pseuds/afractionof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you were five, you might not have been the smartest kid on the your block. You also might have asked Bro Strider to marry you in some convoluted kind of way. Sixteen years later, it’s still haunting you, just not in the way you’d really expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marry You

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty sure this has been done before but I wanted to give the idea a go. Also posted on my tumblr (afractionof).

You're five years old and you're trying to get that through this guy's thick skull by holding up five fingers. "This many," you say and he doesn't really respond. "Hey, I said this many." 

"Yeah, sure, kid." 

You don't know what it is but he's kind of dumb. That's okay though because he's also pretty fun and he's strong and lets you and Dave play in that pool on the roof. He even puts up with Dave's sniffles when he gets all red and his skin does that weird peeling thing. 

"Dave says you're leaving for a little and that's why he's gotta say at my house." 

"Yeah, kid." 

"Why would you leave? Do you not like Dave?" 

You've always thought his eyes were kind of weird. Or, they might have been anyway. You figure that's why he covers them up. Maybe those kids that make fun of your teeth make fun of his eyes too, like Dave's. 

He's frowning and you tense up. 

Uh oh. Dave is always telling you to keep your mouth shut and not get them in trouble. But then he goes and opens his own mouth and you get in trouble anyway so you don't really listen to him that much. 

You can't decide if Bro looks made or something else you don't really get. 

"I like Dave. I just have to... go." 

"Oh." Well, you think, at least he likes Dave. Maybe Dave won't be so sad then if he knows that? "Are you sure you can't stay? He already misses you even though you haven't left yet." 

"Yeah, Kid, I'm sure." 

That makes you sad but you won't cry like Dave. You like Bro and you trust him to come back but what if he doesn't?

You bite your lip. Dave would probably never stop crying. He's really not as tough and cool as he wants to seem but that's okay because you're the only one that gets to see him cry besides Bro and that makes you feel kind of special in a way. You even keep that bracelet he gave you in your pocket at all times. It used to say 'Best Friends' on it but the washing machine kind of ate it a little. 

That's okay though, because you know what it said. Dad told you over and over because you kept asking until you could remember. 

Oh! 

"Hold on, okay? Promise not to move!" 

You don't wait for his answer before you scamper off to your room and to the box under your bed. 

It's filled random stuff but you have this one thing your Dad gave you. Some old ring that was your Nanna’s but she died and so he gave it to you. 

That'll be perfect. 

Digging it out, you wipe it on your shirt and the three little sparkly things on it shine a bit more. You're satisfied with that and pretty sure Bro will be too so you don't waste any time and shove the box back under your bed before running back out. 

He's almost out the door and you frown. "Hey! I told you to wait!" 

He doesn't answer. You didn't really think he would and it's okay. He's Bro and he doesn't answer a lot so you're used to it. 

Wiggling the ring in your fingers, you wipe it off on your shirt one more time before grabbing one of his fingers. 

"Here," you say, sliding it partly up the third one on his left hand. At least, you think that's the left. You have to stop a minute and do the 'L' thing but, yeah, it's his left and you figure that's important because that's the one your Dad wears his on. "You can keep this and then when you come back I'll marry you because we love you and then you'll always have a reason to come back no matter what." 

He just stands there and when he doesn't move his hand you feel your nose wrinkle. "Do you not like it?" 

"Kid, you can't just say things like that." 

He sounds like Dave does when those kids pick on him and he gets all shifty with his feet. You're not sure you like that because this is supposed to be a happy thing so you just do what you do with Dave and grab his hand better. Or you try, anyway. His hands are really big and yours are really small but you hope he doesn't mind. 

"It's okay! I don't think it's a bad thing. So, just don't forget, okay? I'm going to marry you."   
\-----  
It's been sixteen years since you were five. That makes you roughly 21. Well, not roughly. It does make you 21 and you feel no less dumb than you had ten minutes after Bro had left and your Dad had explained to you what the ring on his finger had meant. 

Now, though, you have a totally different reason for feeling dumb. Because Bro isn't a dead and neither are you and that ring isn't a reminder of happy cake times. 

Seriously, had you actually believed that crap? 

Oh well. 

Sighing, you lean against the door to the same apartment you'd spent half your life growing up in. 

You love this place-- the way it smells, the piled up crap in the corners, the weird collection of stuffed animals and apple juice and those smuppets. You even love Cal, may his trashed, stringy soul rest in peace atop the fridge. That little guy deserves some happiness in the puppet's afterlife after all that shit Bro put him through. 

Still, you're nervous and your palms are sweating because this is the first time you've been back here since you turned fifteen and realized you actually did want to marry Bro Strider. 

It was kind of a shitty realization considering, at the time, he'd just hauled in a dark skinned, tall guy with glasses and smile that'd knock out the sun. 

A boyfriend? You hadn't stopped to ask and Dave had never said. You did know that he'd stopped coming over after a year though, and that Bro had since dropped bringing anyone home and, as much as you'd wanted to ask, you never brought it up.

Dave wasn't subtle and he knew you were pining over him. He'd known when you were teenagers and he'd known when you left for that study abroad thing in England that you were still pining after him. He'd known when you bitched at him for giving out your chumhandle and every day after that when Bro started messaging you. He'd even known when he'd picked you up from the airport and slapped you in the face with a plush blue rump in greeting. 

He hadn't asked about your trip. You'd spent the year talking on pesterchum anyway and in the last three months he'd taken to doing nothing but talking about Bro. 

Bro this, Bro that. You didn't really mind until he started getting creative with those ironic metaphors and similes he's so fond of. There'd been more than one time you'd had to cut off your conversations and seek out a bit of personal time. Or, it would have been personal time if he hadn't kept messaging you in pretty graphic detail about how he knew exactly what you were doing. 

It didn't help that Dave's meddling had actually gotten you talking to Bro, regularly, even, and he seemed to like to message you at the exact time you had your hand down your pants and were trying to find a moment of silence to ruin by moaning his name.   
That was over though and Dave was out doing Dave things, probably with Terezi or Karkat and you were tired. 

Had been tired. 

You're not really tired anymore because you know that jerk purposefully left you alone in an apartment with Bro. On purpose. Because that's what purposefully means. Purposefully being a dick because he's Dave Strider and that's what Dave Strider means. To purposefully shove one's nose into your business whether you ask him to or not would be under 'Dave Strider' in the dictionary if he was really as cool as he thought he was and landed his own definition from Mr. Webster himself.

Jesus, you need a nap. 

Your hands shake when you dig out the spare set of keys he gave you and you carefully unlock the door. 

Even though you know Bro has probably been aware of you since you hit the garage, you still can't help but try and sneak inside. It's habit. A dumb one but it just is. Maybe he'll actually be sleeping? 

You shake your head as soon as you step in and see the lamps are on. That'd been kind of a stupid thing to think anyway. Sleeping or not, he'd know and it's not like you don't know his sleep patterns after eight months of persterchum messages and the occasional, expensive but worth it, international text.

But, as you shut the door, you remind yourself that maybe it doesn't really matter because it's not exactly like him to be a conversation starter face to face. He can't have changed that much without Dave saying something but, at the same time, you're almost expecting to come face to face with that guy that stays up late to talk to you while you're in class about how his latest gig went or the girl that snapped a glow stick down her boobs or other useless crap. 

You come to find you're right though, and you're actually kind of relieved because, as much as you want to see him, you've spent the last day on an airplane, sweating because you know you're going to be face to face with Bro again after you ran away like an idiot the second you got jealous-- over nothing, really, because it's not like you were actually going to marry him and it's not like he even realized you existed beyond being Dave's friend until Dave sabotaged your perfect escape to forget him by being loose lipped with your handle. 

You don't blame him though. He had his own life and you were just a kid. Hell, you still feel like a kid when you flop down on Dave's bed and burrow under the covers. 

You're probably always going to feel like a kid here because talking to everyone has always been easy until you get to Bro. 

You blame it on his eyes, even though that's not at all rational or fair or very mature. The one time you got to see them has been burned into your mind ever since and every time his window pops up on your screen, his text color taunts you. 

They're like amber-- just really warm and it's kind of always reminded you of the cider they sell around Christmas time to heat you back up after a long trudge through the snow. They even leave you with the same feeling just thinking about them.

Your groan and bury your face in Dave's pillow. 

You're stupid. So stupid. And you kind of want to slam your head in the freezer because you haven't even seen him yet, haven't even been back on the same continent for more than a couple hours and that feeling is coming back tenfold after you thought you got it all out of your system.

You thought you were cool with this. 

You thought you could handle that change from text to words. They're not much different, really, right? 

Right. No, not right. 

Shit. 

You really are an idiot. 

Your name is John Egbert. You're 21 years old, love Fruit Gushers, Nic Cage and the bad movies he stars in. You have a best friend that likes to try and get you to rap to his 'sick beats' and occasionally you humor. You just came back from London where you spent a year listening to said best friend make sexual innuendoes that managed to make you blush from an ocean away about the guy you've been in love with since you were a kid. You're also an idiot, as you’ve repeatedly established, and you still want to marry Bro Strider.   
\------  
When you wake it's to a familiar pair of dark shades and crossed arms. 

For a moment you think you're dreaming because he doesn't look any different than the last time you'd seen him. He's still wearing that white polo, the collar flipped up and his hat is still the picture of cleaned perfection. 

You still don't have a clue how he keeps stains off of it. 

His hair is still that white blond, his sideburns are done up exactly the same way and he's giving you that expressionless look that you somehow understand to mean something. 

"Hi," you mumble before rolling over and tugging the blankets up over your head. 

You didn't even bother getting undressed before you fell asleep and your shirt is tugged around all weird and practically choking you. 

You don't care though because you can still feel him looking at you and you're perfectly content with just hiding for the next lifetime or until Dave finally gets his scrawny ass back here. 

Something solid hits your legs and you yelp. 

"Breakfast," is all he says and then you hear the click of the door. 

He probably flash stepped out but you still give it a few minutes before you poke your face out of the safety of your nest and peer out. 

You don't really rush out. But you don't want to keep him waiting either. He took the time to make you breakfast, after all and you're next to starving. Pretzels don't really fill you up. Not to mention you're kind of curious in some weird way to see if he'll be a little more vocal about things now that you've gotten to know each other with the chatting.

You kind of doubt it though. 

The plate he sets down as you walk out looks like heaven. The tower of pancakes is somewhere along the lines of God and the syrup dumped over it can be the chorus of angels singing hallelujah. 

As you sit down and pick up your fork, it's pretty apparent you spend way too much time talking to Dave than what's good for you. And probably Karkat too but you figure you're pretty safe for now. There haven't been any overly descriptive rants that include the comparison of someone's brains to elephant excrement in your past and there's not likely to be any in your future so you should be okay. 

"Thanks," you mumble then cut your first bite. 

You were right. They are God. And Heaven. 

You love pancakes, despite the 'cake' word being thrown in there. It's your one concession to baked goods. Even though these aren't baked and don't have much in common with cake. 

The point is they're good and you need more sleep if you're rambling to yourself like this. 

Your eyes slide to Bro who's sitting across the tiny table from you with his own mountain of God slathered in a ton of angelic sound waves. He doesn't answer you, or look at you as he eats and you take advantage of that to make sure you hadn't been dreaming in your earlier, bleary state. 

You're not sure if it's a good or bad thing when you find you definitely weren't dreaming. 

He's beautiful in a really manly kind of way and your chest gets tight. 

"I'll look for a place today," you tell him. You're not really sure why because it's not like he's going to say much back but words just tend to either come out around Bro or get lodged part way through your esophagus. "I'll be out of your hair in no time."

There's the sharp sound as he sets his fork down and something metallic hits the table. 

When you glance up, you nearly choke. 

Your dead Nanna's ring is sitting in the middle of the table.

"Um..." 

You're good at words. At least, you like to think you are. You're going to spend the rest of your working life talking to groups of people so you should be good at it but your chest tightens and your palms sweat and you have run out of words. 

"Let's talk about that." 

He takes a drink while you just nod and set your fork down. 

God, this is not the conversation you want to have but this is Bro and Dave doesn't get his subtle ways from just anywhere, after all. 

You're waiting for it-- the joke, because you're pretty sure this is all it could be if he's actually bringing this up now. 

And had he really held onto that ring? You'd thought he'd just given it to your Dad years ago. 

He still doesn't say anything and the silence stretches. 

You're sitting here freaking out because you're waiting for him to laugh or just, anything, really and he's just sitting there. Staring at you. You think, anyway. 

You really wish he'd just take off the glasses, then you could at least pretend to get a feel for how much extra embarrassment you should pile on. 

After a while you can't take it and force a laugh. "You still have this thing?" He just nods. "Oh... well, sorry about that. I mean, I know I was five but I still feel like I should apologize because I bet that was really weird and all, so..."

You trail off and nearly wet yourself and his chair scrapes against the floor and he stands. 

"You're nervous." 

You almost want to thank him for stating the obvious but you don't because this is Bro and, well, you really can't get the words out. "Well, yeah... I asked you to marry me when I was like five. I know little kids do weird stuff but that's still pretty embarrassing. It's like your Dad showing off pictures of your baby butt to your dates in high school." 

"Mm. Do you still want to?" 

This time you do choke. On your own saliva. You're so charming sometimes you can't even handle it. "What?" 

You wince when it comes out like a squeak but what else does he expect!

"Do you still want to," he repeats and your heart is coming to a stuttering stop because his glasses are down and he's actually looking at you over them. 

You're pretty sure you're going to drown and it's going to be a great way to go because you can't even describe how good it feels to have that intense gaze solely focused on you. 

For just a little while, you are the center of his attention. 

Even if it is one of those awkward conversations you'd really rather not have. This almost makes up for it. Almost. 

"I-- yeah. I mean, no. I mean-- yes... and no? Why are you even asking that?" 

"Because." 

Oh, his reasoning is just great and you're starting to think that maybe you'd rather just sink down into a hole and die but before you can really decide, you're sliding your own chair back to make your escape. 

You don't get very far though because a large hand is settling over the center of your chest and he's holding out the ring. 

"Here." 

"What?" 

You're more than a little confused. You're tired and you just... you really, really like this guy. Chatting with him for what felt like years did not help! This is not helping. Dave isn't and wasn't and hardly ever is helping and-- and, well, maybe it doesn't even matter because he just kissed your cheek. 

Bro Strider just kissed your cheek and is curling your fingers around that little piece of metal you'd given him all those years ago and, oh, he's talking again. 

"I think I wanna marry you too, but how about just dinner first?" 

Somehow you manage a 'yes'. You're kind of proud of that one too because you can actually recognize it as a real word. 

You don't really move but you don't really mind and you're pretty sure he doesn't either because he just reaches up and pushes his glasses back into place. His lips twitch and you realize he's smiling and then you're smiling too because Bro Strider, that guy-- the guy-- just kind of asked you on a date and might have agreed to marry you in some backward kind of way. 

Your name is John Egbert. You're still stupid but you're happy and your cheeks feel like they're going to tear because you're smiling like an idiot. You're pretty sure your teeth are showing but you don't care. You're going to have to get used to that, you guess, because, in some weird way, Bro Strider just said 'yes' and you did too.


End file.
